


What's Up, Doc?

by Zoadgo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant Addiction, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, F/M, Hate Sex, Light Choking, Light Self-Loathing, McCreary hasn't been shown to have a throat kink but he does in this, Rough Sex, Sex as an Alternative to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 15:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: Abby needs her pills to function, she can't possibly solve this disease without them. But her ever present jailor refuses to give them to her, and there's only so much taunting Abby can take before she does... something.





	What's Up, Doc?

**Author's Note:**

> **If you don't want to read consensual hate sex between Abby and McCreary, don't read this. Seriously. Don't go on and read this and then send me hate for it. No one is forcing you to read it.**

“Well, Doc?” McCreary’s now far too familiar voice interrupts Abby’s thoughts, and she clenches her jaw, taking one deep breath to control herself. It’s harder to do that, these days, especially with some insane criminal crowding up next to her. She can feel the heat from his chest, not quite touching her back as he looks over her shoulder at information he couldn’t possibly hope to understand.

“I have a name, you know,” Abby bites out irritably, feeling telltale cravings setting in. She wants more pills, but she can’t. Not yet. Her supply will only last so long, and she needs to have fixed this problem before they run out.

“Sure you do,” McCreary responds, patronizing as ever. Much as Abby would like to retort that her having an actual name isn’t exactly something he can doubt, she saves her energy on that front. 

“What do you want, McCreary?” Abby barely resists the urge to throw an elbow into his stomach, or something equally foolish. She knows that he’ll kill her, or worse, given any reason to. Or perhaps just a particularly strong whim. 

“Same thing I always want, Doc,” McCreary’s breath tickles Abby’s ear as he leans in, forcing his way even further into her space. “I want you to fix me.”

Abby can hear the violence in his voice, the tiny amount of restraint preventing him from doing to her what he did to the last guy. It’s in the clipped tone, the desperation- and there, in the faint rattle of his breath. Maybe an indicator of years spent smoking in prisons a hundred years ago, but Abby likes to think it’s the dark spots in his chest, slowly killing him. She wishes she could spur them on, but she knows her survival depends on getting rid of the little heroes. 

“And I’ve told you, it’s not that simple,” Abby says, for what feels like the millionth time. “I’m working on it, but-”

McCreary makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a growl, and it stops Abby’s words cold. He’s a murderer, she reminds herself, and taunting someone like him isn’t a smart move. But even so, a dark part of herself wants to push him. It’s a part Abby is well acquainted with, and given that normally it’s begging her to take more pills - and more, and more, and more pills - she’s somewhat inclined to entertain this latest, non drug-related, whim. It’s easier, when you’re high, and you’ve been high for so long. Consequences seem a little less real. 

“If you can’t fix me, what’s even the point of you?” McCreary mumbles, so quiet that Abby’s quite sure the words weren’t even meant for her. It’s only the fact that his head is still curved in towards her neck that she can hear him, and her heart beats a staccato into her throat. Abby swallows, hard, trying to hold herself together, and McCreary places a hand on the back of her neck. Gentle, slow, almost as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Are you going to kill me too?” Abby asks, angry at being reduced to a commodity, angry at McCreary for trying to intimidate her, and angry at herself for the way she almost leans into his touch. “I’ll remind you, I can’t fix you if I’m dead.”

“It seems you can’t fix me anyway, so-” McCreary leaves the thought hanging in the air, and his grip on the back of her neck tightens. The moment settles somewhere deep within Abby, a tension that resonates far too much with her addiction. A craving, for something to happen, for a distraction. For release.

And then McCreary makes a noise of disgust and releases her abruptly, stepping back out of her space. Abby looks over her shoulder as he stalks away, tattooed crosses on his back like makeshift grave markers. She takes a shaky breath and watches as he clenches his hand at his side, glaring down at it. She knows that look far too well; he craves violence the same way she craves her pills; he must.

Abby shakes her head sharply and turns back to the test results in front of her. No, that line of thought is no use going down. She doesn’t need to humanize him, doesn’t need to sympathize with him. McCreary is right, all she needs to do is solve what’s wrong with him.

For a while, Abby works in peace, or what passes for peace these days. She ignores McCreary shifting and muttering behind her, and tries not to get too angry at the answers that never come to a problem she doesn’t even fully understand. She should be able to do it. Abby knows it’s there, just out of reach. If she were just a bit smarter, a bit better, she could-

“McCreary,” Abby calls out, gaze fixed on the tremors of her hands. “I need my pills.”

“Nope,” McCreary responds, popping the ‘p’, and Abby balls her hands into fists.

“I can’t work without them, I-”

“You’re a junkie. Which you know, whatever. I don’t care how quickly you end up in the ground, as long as you do your job first. But if it comes down to surgery, I wanna make sure your hands aren’t shaking in my lungs, understand?” McCreary makes an unfortunately valid point, and that simply serves to infuriate Abby.

“I can’t focus without them, I just-”

“You’ll get your next fix when I say you do,” McCreary cuts off all of Abby’s desperate justifications, all of her excuses. “Or off of my dead body. Whichever comes first.”

Abby’s chair clatters to the ground before she even consciously realizes she’s standing. She turns to face McCreary, cravings driving her thin control to the barest wisp of smoke in a windstorm, and sees him smiling at her, lounging on the cot. Abby’s teeth creak as she reminds herself how little anyone will care if he kills her. She takes a deep breath and tries one more time for reason.

“I-”

“I don’t care,” McCreary interrupts her loudly, and Abby advances on him in a heartbeat. Who is he, to talk to her like that? To treat her like a prisoner? To keep her pills from her?

As soon as Abby takes the first step, McCreary gets to his feet, and okay yes, he’s even more intimidating standing, but she’s not going to let that stop her. She’s come too far, momentum and a soul deep need for a hit driving her forward. Abby balls one hand into a fist and throws a punch at him as hard as she can. She puts every bit of frustration, every weak day, every moment she’s been scared into her punch.

And McCreary catches her fist as if it were nothing. Because of course he does. He’s a hardened criminal turned miner, turned hardened criminal again, and she’s a pill addicted doctor who’s been living on rations in a bunker for six years. She’s never even been in a fight, the most she’s done is restrain patients once in a while. And most of her patients in Wonkru didn’t need restraints, not if Octavia ordered them to stay still.

“Now now, Doc, let’s not do something we’ll regret,” McCreary almost purrs, still smiling. This is where he thrives, in a fist fight, in violence. Much of Abby hates it; how strong he is, his cocky smile, the obvious muscles in his torso and arms because he still hasn’t put his shirt back on from his last exam. But a lot of her finds something appealing in it, too, and that part grows stronger as the time from her last dose grows larger.

“I want,” Abby tears her eyes away from his torso, and McCreary’s smirk tells her clearly that he noticed her wandering eyes, “my pills.”

“Too bad.” Abby tries to throw a punch with her left hand, only for that to be caught just as easily. McCreary shakes his head, “You sure you want to go down this road, Doc? You might not like where it ends up.”

Abby struggles for a moment, attempting to wrest her hands from his grip. But McCreary is easily stronger than her, and he barely seems to react to her efforts at all. It pisses her off, and at the same time, she catches him glancing at her lips, and her heart skips a beat. Not in the way that Marcus makes her feel, not all fuzzy and warm and protected, but something toxically alluring. Like a fresh high, she knows it’s bad, and yet…

“Try me,” Abby challenges, and McCreary drops her hands in a flash, reaching up to grab her throat. He walks her back across the room, and Abby goes easily. This is dangerous, he could actually kill her, this isn’t what she thought would happen-

Her back hits a wall solidly, and McCreary continues to press forward a step. He brackets her against the wall with his free arm above her head, invading her space as he always does. Even as he applies some pressure to her throat - not choking, not yet anyway, but a definite warning - his thumb strokes the side of her neck. Abby shivers at the contrast and licks her lips, more a nervous habit than anything, but McCreary’s eyes fly to the movement all the same.

“Say,” McCreary’s mutters into the scant air between them, “that you want this.”

“What?” Abby asks, and McCreary’s hand twitches slightly on her neck. She wonders what would happen if she said no. Would he kill her, or simply beat her? She’s willing to bet the latter, but honestly, Abby’s not afraid of a beating. Hell, she’s not even afraid of death. If she truly didn’t want it, that wouldn’t stop her.

“Diyoza has very clear rules, and I don’t give a shit about most of them, but…” McCreary trails off and leans in, his lips brushing Abby’s jaw ever so slightly. His breath is hot on her skin as he whispers, “Say that you want this.”

Abby swallows hard, mouth suddenly dry. She does, there’s no denying the tension in her core and the heat between her legs. But to say it out loud, to admit that she wants to fuck the murderer who’s threatened to kill her and the man she loves multiple times? Impossible.

“Yes,” Abby whispers, despite herself. The same force that moves her hands to drugs speaks for her, and she shudders as McCreary grips her throat a little tighter.

“Yes, what?” He insists, and Abby can feel his lips move against her skin. One last chance to hold herself together, then. One last out.

To hell with it.

“I want this,” Abby admits, and even as it shames her to say the words, the guilt curls hot in her belly like some sick sort of pleasure.

McCreary hums in satisfaction, the sound deep and resonating through Abby like a current. He drags his mouth down her neck, all hot breath and the scrape of stubble, shifting his hand out of the way. He moves his grip to cupping her jaw instead, and leans back, looking at her with such an intense hunger that Abby’s breath catches in her throat. Maybe she was wrong, maybe violence isn’t where he’s at his prime; this is.

For the few moments that McCreary studies her, Abby feels like a rabbit in the eyes of a wolf. And then he leans down and crashes his lips into hers, hard and violent, and Abby isn’t afraid. No, as she leans into the kiss, returning his fervour in kind, Abby is hungry. Starving, on a deep level, in the ache in her core, and she’ll be damned if she stops before she satisfies that need.

Everything about the kiss is rough, the scape of teeth and stubble sparking through Abby in a delightful way, just this side of painful. McCreary bites her lip, and it crosses that line to definitely being painful, but Abby gasps in pleasure despite herself. Wrapped up in the heat of the moment, Abby reaches out, and this time McCreary doesn’t stop her from making contact. 

She takes a brief moment to map her palms up his chest, feeling his muscles moving as he drops the hand from her jaw to roughly grab her hip, pausing for a moment to feeling the pounding of his heart. She can’t beat him in a fight, and normally she has no power in this dynamic, but underneath her hand right now is proof that she has some power. She can do this to him, cause his heart rate to skyrocket, make him groan against her lips when she digs her fingers into his flesh.

Abby delights in the equality of the situation for a moment before McCreary’s hand finds its way inward from her hip, reaching down and grinding the heel of his palm against her through her pants, successfully distracting her from any more such poetic thoughts. Abby’s head drops back against the wall as she gasps a profanity, and McCreary smiles.

“Don’t,” Abby gasps, “say a damn word.”

Abby knows whatever McCreary might say would definitely ruin the pleasant fire burning between her legs, so as he opens his mouth to talk despite her command, Abby drops her hands to his crotch as well. All he manages is a muttered “Shit” as Abby makes quick work of his belt, weapons falling heavily to the ground, and Abby can tolerate that much talking. With urgent need, Abby makes quick work of his fly and frees his erection from the confines of his clothing.

Removing the rest of his clothes would take too much work, too much time, Abby decides. Evidently McCreary is on the same page as her, as he hurries to undo Abby’s pants rather than shedding his own garments. She assists him slightly, gets the tight pants down far enough for her to spread her legs slightly. McCreary grunts, raising his hand to his mouth and licking a few fingers before dropping it right back to where it was with a whole new purpose. 

Abby groans in pleasure, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as his fingers sink deep inside of her. No teasing, no gentleness, exactly what Abby wants right now. Just a few quick thrusts, enough to get her blood boiling and her heart racing impossibly faster. Then McCreary turns her around, and Abby finds herself clawing for purchase on the wall as he pushes into her. He goes slowly enough that it’s not outrageously painful, and Abby finds the same sort of guilty pleasure in the burn of it that’s been fueling her this whole time. 

McCreary pauses when he’s fully inside of her, giving Abby a moment to adjust, the furnace of his chest pressed to her back. She can feel his heavy breathing, and she reaches back to grab his hip, spurring him to movement. As he begins to pump his hips, McCreary drops his head to rest with his mouth just behind Abby’s ear. She can hear every soft grunt, every exhaled curse so clearly, and each little noise sends pleasure straight to her core, amplifying the sensations of him rocking within her.

“More,” Abby says, her voice husky with desire, and McCreary makes that half-growl noise again as he obliges. 

McCreary grabs Abby’s hips, His mouth leaving her skin as he leans back slightly in order to snap his hips firmer in a punishing pace. It’s rougher than Abby’s ever had, and she doesn’t even try to stop the moans that spill from her. In days gone by, she might have been ashamed of this, but those days hardly hold sway on anything anymore. Every time she moans, McCreary seems to redouble his efforts to drag those noises out of her again, and Abby feels her climax growing quickly.

McCreary’s hand finds the back of Abby’s neck again, but this time the pressure he applies doesn’t feel threatening. Controlling, maybe, but also grounding in a way. This time, Abby does lean into it, arching back, and McCreary hisses. His hand wraps around to the front of her throat, and his mouth drops back to that spot on her neck again.

“Careful, Doc,” McCreary cautions, and Abby doesn’t care in the slightest. He could kill her at any point, and right now, this feels too good to give up. Even his grip on her throat, and the way her breath comes just a little shallower in her chest, feels amazing.

“I think we’re a little past careful now,” Abby retorts in a whisper, and McCreary growls. It brings Abby markedly closer to the edge, and her breath shudders.

Contrary to his warning, McCreary keeps the pressure on Abby’s throat light, just enough for her to feel something from it. His fingers dig into her hip so hard she knows she’ll have bruises for days, but she finds herself caring very little about what marks this session may leave. With another animalistic noise, McCreary moves the hand from her hip, curling around and seeking her clit, above where he continues to thrust into her relentlessly. 

It only takes a few strokes of the sensitive bundles of nerves to send Abby over the edge, and McCreary releases her throat to clap his hand over her mouth as she orgasms. She moans into his hand, and he continues to fuck her through the intense waves of pleasure. Just as it begins to become too much, McCreary pulls out of her, leaving Abby feeling remarkably empty. He releases her, and she can hear him grunt as he jerks himself off. He finishes with a strained noise, cum falling next to Abby’s boot as she hangs her head, panting heavily and trying to compose herself.

Abby blinks slowly and tries to remember how to be human again as she listens to McCreary zipping up his pants and reclaiming his weapons belt from the ground. Before she can even think to do the same for herself, McCreary is helping her to get her pants back on in proper order, turning her around in order to manage the fly. His gaze is focused, still incredibly intense, and Abby pulls herself back together. She brushes his hands aside, clearing her throat, blushing slightly as the realization of what she just did sets in.

“Well, Doc,” McCreary calls out as Abby walks past him, back to her notes. No matter how ridiculous it was for her to stop working in order to fuck a man she doesn’t even particularly like, it seems to have dulled her cravings, at least for the moment as her post-orgasmic bliss clouds everything. “What do you think? Am I worth saving now?”

Abby closes her eyes and counts to three. Yup, hooking up with him was definitely a mistake. She lets out a slow breath and mutters, “Still not my name.”

In the edge of her vision, she sees McCreary grin, and she steadfastly ignores however that may make her feel. From now on, she’s going to focus one hundred percent of her attention on the problem she’s supposed to be fixing. No more side-tracks, no more distractions. And she’s definitely going to get off those damn pills.

Then McCreary walks past her to the cot, and she can’t keep her gaze entirely on the data in front of her. 

Yeah, right. No more distractions, my ass.

**Author's Note:**

> i would like to share with you all my note from the start of this to my beta because just... i'm sorry about that title;  
> "Why do i do this with fic names, first we had the axe pun, and now this. This is hardcore self-loathing, need an alternative to drugs hate sex for mccreary/abby, and i’ve invoked buggs bunny for the title"
> 
> yup. anyway, i really like mccreary?? and hate ships? so uh, here we are. as always, thanks to Ets for being the best editor on the planet and enabling my filth ♥
> 
> i'm [on tumblr](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com) if you want to send me new sin ships to obsess over there. thanks all for reading/commenting/leaving kudos!


End file.
